Wounds Unhealed
by Freya Ishtar
Summary: In the aftermath of the eclipse, Derek and Lydia have a chance encounter at the Nemeton. A disturbing discovery sets them both on edge, in very different ways, but their reluctance to admit their connection as they try to piece together motives might prove just as dangerous as the thing that had bound them in the first place. *Listed as Horror because there is no 'Dark' listing.


Yes, another one! I can't help myself when it comes to Ye Olde Dydia Ship, it seems. I kind of need this fic to address & resolve some things in the wake of S3-A (for the sake of my own head canon, since we all know anything we write now is going to go out the window once Jeff gets a hold of us again in January).

Also: **Special Shout-out to Youtube user, traube7**. I was totally unaware of it, but this person made an absolutely phenomenal trailer for _Cravings_. I tripped over it completely by accident, according to the time stamp the trailer was made in February & considering how often I poke about looking for Dydia fan vids, I'm a bit mad at Youtube for not letting me know about it sooner. It's a minute & a half of contextually appropriate awesomeness. If you guys want to check it out, give the vid creator some love, search "Derek Lydia Cravings Trailer" on Youtube.

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DISCLAIMER: _Teen Wolf_ & all associated characters © Jeff Davis & MTV Productions. This story is written for entertainment purposes only, I make no profit in any way from its creation or distribution, no copyright infringement is intended.

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Chapter One

Words Uncertain

His steps faltered as he caught a scent on the breeze. _Her_ scent, but that made no sense, she didn't even know where the damned thing was. Or at least she hadn't when she'd approached him about it a mere week ago—for that matter, he hadn't, either. When all was said and done, he'd had Scott tell him the location; perhaps she'd done the same.

He knew why he was here, but . . . why was _she_? Frowning thoughtfully, he eased from his heavy, careless tromping to carefully placed footfalls, deftly avoiding fallen branches and withered leaves in the dwindling light of evening, as only a werewolf could.

Slipping between the trees of the preserve, he moved until the clearing where the Nemeton rested opened out before him, and there she was. Her strawberry blonde head bent against the fading glimmers of sunshine, she lowered herself on one knee, her fingers outstretched as she reached toward the enormous stump.

* * *

She felt something beneath the hum of newly restored power. . . thin, distant—much like waking to a sound, only to wonder if it'd been real or a work of imagination. A faint pulse tickled her fingertips as her skin pressed to the weathered surface of the Nemeton.

There was such a deep sadness here, and she was the only one who could feel it. The ground around it still showed the remnants of the Darach's failed plans, sections of the clearing were caved into the root cellar below.

And this poor thing was crying, screaming silently to itself in agony, and no one else could hear.

Even with the sacrifices of her friends restoring some of its former glory, the Nemeton's power was still greatly diminished, so she wondered how then it could have had the strength to—

"I'd think you, of all people, would know these woods aren't safe when it gets dark."

Lydia's heart skipped a beat at the sound of Derek's voice. That was a ridiculous reaction, wasn't it? It was only that . . . he was supposed to have left Beacon Hills and she was surprised. Yes, that was all, she was surprised.

And, okay, so maybe he was the best looking guy in Beacon Hills, so what. The . . . muscly stature—how well he filled out that leather jacket and blue jeans—and great hair and dreamy eyes didn't fit into her thinking at all when she was around Derek Hale. Nope, didn't occur to her even once. At all. Ever.

Lydia was certain if she kept reaffirming that, it would eventually become true.

She still refused to think about how her scream had brought him and Cora back to the loft; had brought him back into Jennifer's insane plan. She didn't like that Jennifer had known he'd return when he heard her banshee wail. And she certainly wasn't going to be the one to broach that subject in conversation, if Derek ever felt inclined to discuss his crazy ex, well, then, he'd just have to be the one to bring it up.

Clearing her throat, she stood and turned to face him, plastering on a smile. "I thought the bad guys had been handled, well, ya know, until whatever else is out there picks up on the beacon, that is."

The bright blue of his eyes startled her, but then night was falling, so perhaps she shouldn't be surprised to find a werewolf in the woods using his wolf-vision, or whatever the hell they called it. But just as quickly as she noticed the vibrant hue, it faded and he stepped closer, his gaze tracing her cheeks.

* * *

"What happened?" His demand came out a bit harsher than he'd intended, but the words had already left his lips, no way to retract them.

Lydia's face fell. "What do you mean?"

He took another step toward her. His hand twitched a moment, instinct telling him to wipe her cheek, but no, that would be crossing some boundary. "You were crying."

She blinked, green eyes widening as she touched a hand to her face.

That she'd not realized she'd been crying stung him on a level he couldn't acknowledge just now. He ignored the impression, focusing on the ridiculousness of her being here at all. Only Lydia Martin would traipse through the woods in a mini-skirt and heels as night fell. For such an intelligent woman, she certainly had her fair share of stupid moments to her name.

He wondered briefly how tiny she really was. The thought gave him the strangest image, just a fragment, just for the tiniest second, of what it would be like to see her walking around barefoot.

No, he didn't want to see that, he decided firmly as he watched her wrap her arms around herself against the light breeze ruffling the edge of her skirt across her perfectly shaped legs.

Nope, he didn't just make that observation—and he didn't want to think about anything that would remind him that she was small, and delicate, and fragile.

* * *

Shaking her head, she forced another broad, false grin and wiped the tears with the corner of her sleeve. "It's just . . . " she knew after everything, no one—especially not Derek, who'd been ready to abandon everyone on her say-so just a week ago—would think she was crazy anymore, she still couldn't bring herself to say that she'd felt heart-rending sadness from a tree stump.

"It's just, look at this place," she waved a dismissive hand, indicating the sunken and pockmarked landscape that dominated the clearing. "Crazy bitch destroyed so much and so many people, just for revenge."

He scowled, a clearly self-deprecating expression, and she cringed. "Um, sorry."

* * *

"No, don't apologize," he said hurriedly, holding up a hand. "She_ was _a crazy bitch."

He couldn't get mad at her for saying it, even if he did blame himself for everything Jennifer had done. The feeling was irrational, he knew that, but understanding that his mercy killing of Paige all those years ago had played such a role in all of this made him feel responsible. He wondered then if he'd not been a complete asshole that day he'd been so snarky to Lydia about bringing Peter back from the dead. She'd not been in control of her actions, yet he still blamed her. Now he understood, she probably still blamed herself deep down, where she'd never let anyone see.

"I thought you left town," she said, obviously trying to move past the awkwardness as she glanced around. "Is Cora with you?"

* * *

Derek shook his head. "She doesn't want to come back here, too many bad memories. She, um . . . " he dropped his gaze to the ground as he shrugged. "Another family of werewolves had taken her in after the fire, she's gone back to them."

"Are you okay with that?" Lydia didn't know why she was asking, but even when he was surrounded by his wolves, Derek had seemed alone in a way. She'd hoped that having his sister back would have changed that.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, nodding as a small smile curved his lips. "Ya know what? Yeah, yeah, I'm okay with that. We found each other; we're never not going to be in each other's lives."

Lydia couldn't help a small, short giggle. "That was almost a coherent point. But what are you doing here? Like, at the Nemeton?"

His smile faded. "I wanted to see it again. I asked Scott where it was. You?"

"Allison, and I—I wanted to see it, period." She turned away, speaking over her shoulder as she stared down at the massive stump. "For weeks it was calling out to me and I had no idea."

"You couldn't have known."

* * *

She sighed, muttering under her breath about meaningless platitudes.

He chuckled, lifting his gaze to the pale crescent moon rising in the sky before them. The wind picked up, tousling the curled ends of her long hair. Derek reflexively inhaled at that moment—he hadn't intended to, it was a wolf-thing, scenting the air as it rushed past his face for any hint of prey, or other predators in the area—and he caught the pleasant fruitiness of some expensive hair care product and . . . was she wearing cinnamon oil? Well, that was annoying, her natural scent was inviting all by itself.

Blinking hard, he shook his head once more and froze. There, under Lydia's presence of fruit and spice was something _dark_.

* * *

Lydia shuddered at the sudden growl rumbling at her back. With slow, deliberate motions, she turned to look at Derek, but he wasn't behind her anymore. The man was circling the stump with measured steps, his eyes that incandescent blue as they trailed along the tangled roots.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, afraid to startle him in a feral moment.

Lowering himself slowly, he inhaled deeply again before giving into an angry frown. "Blood. _Jennifer's_ blood."

"Oh, Gods," she found herself rounding the Nemeton to stand beside him before she was even conscious of moving. "Did she . . ." Lydia forced a gulp down her throat, the Darach's true face flashing before her mind's eye. "Is she going to come back?"

* * *

"I don't think so," he shook his head, leaning a little closer to the stump so that Lydia's scent wouldn't distract him from the darkness that had taken place on this spot. "I also smell death."

* * *

She let out a breath, not fully realizing she'd placed a hand on Derek's shoulder for support as her body sagged under a wave of relief. Relief and guilt; relief that Jennifer was probably dead, and guilt that she could be relieved that someone had died—even someone crazy and evil.

* * *

"Death," he repeated the word in a low rumble as he sniffed the air one last time, wanting to be certain his senses weren't betraying him. The scent was faded, barely there anymore, but it matched with how faded the hints of blood and death were. "And Peter."

* * *

Those blue eyes lifted to lock on Lydia's, her relief vanishing as quickly as it had come. "Peter," she echoed, her voice barely a ribbon of sound against another gust of wind. "Didn't . . . didn't he say—"

"That he didn't know where the Nemeton was?" Derek finished for her, his expression darkening. "Yes."

"Couldn't . . . couldn't he have just asked someone like we did?"

* * *

Derek stood, holding her gaze as her small, delicate human hand slid from his shoulder. "I'd say the scents are about a week old which means-"

"He was here the night of the eclipse," Lydia concluded, the dazed look in her eyes telling him she was unaware she'd finished his sentence.

"When he supposedly left town, too," he explained, a combination of anger and pain edging his words.

* * *

Lydia couldn't help herself as she spun on a heel and stepped backward, almost close enough that she had her back to Derek's abdomen, but not quite. She could feel the warmth he radiated, but their bodies didn't touch. "If Peter didn't leave town," she said, her voice barely audible, but she knew he could easily hear her as she darted her gaze about, "then where is he?"

* * *

Her uncertainty added a dose of anxiety to his anger and what might well be paranoia as he looked over his shoulder into the quickly darkening expanse of woods around them. "It's Peter, we're not going to know until he wants us to."


End file.
